


Hat Trick

by samwhambam



Series: Score [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: M/M, david is the best sports boyfriend, hockey boyfriend!, holiday parties, listen hockey is not known for being inclusive, the prequel to Odd Man Rush!, there are dates, there are hockey games and game day food, there is falling in love softly, there is talk about homophobia but it's all referenced and nothing is very specific, you don't need to have read part one to read this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22314925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwhambam/pseuds/samwhambam
Summary: The ball was dropping, but David looked away, needing to keep some distance between himself and his past life in New York. His attention was pushed back to the screen when everyone started cheering, their cries broke his focus and David turned to the tv in time to see old friends of his hugging each other on the tv. He brought the champagne flute up to his lips and tipped it back, taking a sip. He shifted and he caught Patrick’s eyes over the top of the glass. Patrick winked at him and David shook his head with a chuckle.Prequel to Odd Man Rush, aka the hockey bfs fic!Hat Trick: When a player scores three points in a game.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Score [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584895
Comments: 127
Kudos: 447





	Hat Trick

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hello!
> 
> Welcome! This little (lol) fic is the prequel to my other fic, [Odd Man Rush](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22019398). I mentioned the idea briefly on the notes to OMR, but had already started planning it before I posted OMR. lol You don't need to read them in a certain order. They very much can be read on their own. 
> 
> I want to say a quick thank you to [houdini74](https://archiveofourown.org/users/houdini74/pseuds/houdini74) who has answered so many hockey questions and [this_is_not_nothing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_not_nothing/pseuds/this_is_not_nothing) who beta'd the fuck outta this!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos on Odd Man Rush. The response made me very emotional and I'm so happy that so many of you enjoyed the silly little hockey fic I wrote about our favorite boys. I hope you all enjoy Hat Trick, a piece that I spent, probably too much time working on, but all 14,500 words came from my heart. 
> 
> xo, sam

“Mr. Rose, we’re about to pull up.” 

David grunted as he was pulled from his daydream, his eyes unfocused on the lights and people they were driving past. He turned his head to face his driver. Murphy had been driving for his father for years, always on retainer in Toronto. That was one of the perks of moving back and away from NYC, no more Lyft or Uber, just Murphy. Well, when his parents weren’t in the area and he could actually book Murphy. 

The car slowed to a stop and someone opened the back door and held it so David could step out. He made sure to grab the small gift bag and then straighten his winter coat as he walked into the apartment building. The attendant called for the elevator and soon he was stepping through the front door of his ex’s penthouse.

His relationship with Diane had burned hot and bright, but fizzled out quickly, lasting less time that he would’ve put money on. That had been a year ago. He accepted the invite to the party after he ran into her the week before. He had only agreed because he had no plans and she was so far removed from his usual gaggle of exes that he knew it would be safe to attend, away from all the toxic people he had vowed to cut out of his life after Sebastien Raine had royally fucked him over. 

Diane greeted him with double cheek kisses, accepted his gift graciously, a candle that he brought back from his latest trip to Japan, and then showed him to the open bar, leaving him to order with a promise of finding him later in the night to introduce to her girlfriend. 

“Straw?” The bartender asked as they placed a tall gin and tonic in front of him. 

“Straw,” David pursed his lips as the bartender touched the tip of the straw with their bare hand. “And a napkin.”

The bartender slapped a napkin down onto the bar and David pulled out his wallet, dropped a 20 in the tip jar, making sure that the bartender saw when he dropped it in because good tips meant strong drinks, and picked up his drink and turned from the bar. He scanned the crowd as he plucked the straw from his glass and turned it upside down, dropping the section the bartender touched into the drink. If people used liquor and moonshine to disinfect cuts, then the gin would  _ have  _ to kill whatever germs were on that person's fingers. 

The room was full and David looked around for an in. There was a splattering of people he knew, but not well enough to remember their names, so they were out. There were groups of people who he didn’t know—and growing up in the Rose Household had certainly prepared him for those social interactions—but he would need to finish his drink first and steal an amuse bouche from a waiter.

“Excuse me,” Someone spoke from behind David and David scoffed as he turned around. 

“Excuse  _ you,”  _ David huffed. He took in the man and the limited space around him, his mouth forming an ‘O’ once he realized the man literally meant “excuse me”. David stepped out of the way as the man chuckled. 

“Yeah, just needed to get by,” The man moved but stopped right next to David. “I’m not known for picking a fight in the middle of a secular holiday party. So, no need to worry.”

“Mhm, okay,” David wrapped the napkin around his cup, dampening the  _ clink  _ of his rings against the glass. David stepped further out of the way and the man followed. 

“I’m Patrick Brewer,” The man held his hand out and David shook it by reflex. 

“David Rose,” David let go of the man’s hand, letting his own fall to his side. 

A waiter approached and David snatched a bite before they could leave. 

“So how do you know the hosts?” Patrick asked. The liquid in his cup was dark and carbonated and David wondered if it was rum or whiskey mixed in with the coke. 

“I actually dated Diane a little over a year ago for a very short amount of time. When I first moved back to Toronto,” David explained. He waved the waiter back because those mini crab cakes were fucking delicious.

“Oh! Where were you before?” Patrick asked once David’s fingertips were on a crab cake. 

David let out a sarcastic whimper as he picked up the cake. 

“There’s not enough food in this apartment for me to shame eat while I tell you about my sordid trysts in New York that led me to flee the area,” David snarked. The crab cake melted on his tongue and he made a mental note to ask Diane what catering company they were using. 

“I think there’s a Five Guys around the corner? If you want to share, I’ll buy you a cheeseburger,” Patrick teased. He drummed his fingers on his glass. David held his own up. 

“But there’s a bar here,” David responded. Patrick laughed and David memorized the sound, ready to analyze it after their conversation to determine if Patrick was laughing at him or with him. It wasn’t really a joke?

Patrick nodded, his face pinched in consideration. Out of the corner of his eye, David noticed a tall man with close stubble whose arms flexed through his sweater. David watched him move and join a group of people who laughed and let him join so seamlessly, too big of a close-knit group for David to work himself into. 

“So how do you know Diane?” David asked. He noticed the man look into his cup and swirl the contents. David drained half of his glass as he tuned back into what Patrick was saying. 

“I actually know her girlfriend Heather through work,” Patrick explained. “Heather is one of the managers of the Maple Leafs.”

“Maple Leafs?” David asked, confused and not sure that where his mind went, was what Patrick was actually referencing. 

“The hockey team?” The corner of Patrick’s lips twitched. David furrowed his brow. A conversation with a sportsperson was not how he wanted to start his night. “You know hockey, the sport with the sticks and pucks and ice. I play. One of the people who hit the puck.”

“I know what hockey is,” David snapped. He turned to fully face Patrick, taking him in for the first time. His Levis were crisp to go with his light blue button up shirt, sleeves folded to show off a hint of forearm. His hair was close cropped and face just slightly too innocent for his profession. “You don’t look like you play hockey.”

This time Patrick’s lips did quirk into a full smile. 

“Is it because I have all my teeth?” David grimaced at Patrick’s joke. 

He noticed the man start to walk away from the group so he drained his drink, preening at the fact that he was correct as the man stopped at the end of the bar line. 

“I’m going to get another drink,” David said, taking a step away from Patrick. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Oh, okay,” Patrick murmured and David fell into line right behind the man he had been eyeing. 

*

New Years Eve was usually awful. The parties were always out of control, loud and David usually found himself on the balcony, sitting under a heater if there was one, with a glass of champagne and his phone. Last year he had visited friends in New York and he couldn’t remember the night, or the day before, or the day after, and had stewed in regret for a full week. 

This year though, Diane and Heather invited him back for their New Years Eve party, because apparently, he had made a great impression on Heather. He stood outside their door, the sound of people laughing penetrated the heavy door and before he could knock, the door opened and Heather shuffled him in. 

“Come in, David!” She pulled him into a hug and sheppard him into the space. He handed her the bottle of whiskey he brought. She smiled wide and held it to her chest and then gave him a wink. “You know how to treat a host.”

There were a lot less people in attendance than the holiday party, no stationed bartender and the food was set on the table, buffet style--which made up for the lack of people for David to hide in. He fixed himself a drink, pouring the alcohol in slowly as he looked around the room. 

“David, right?” A man said from next to him. David turned his head towards the source. “Patrick, we met at the holiday party.”

“Right,” David nodded. He dropped a straw into his drink and stirred. “The hockey player.”

“One of them, yeah,” Patrick teased and oh, that’s one of the things David remembered from their short interaction. 

“There was more?” David asked. He watched Patrick unscrew the whiskey and pour a healthy serving into his cup before filling it to the top with coke. 

“The whole team was there,” Patrick supplied. He grabbed a maraschino cherry from a bowl that David had ignored and dropped it into his cup. “They’re here tonight. You were just preoccupied with Jake.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t pay attention to anything you’re saying, because you just dropped a maraschino cherry into your whiskey and coke?” David grimaced as the words came out of his mouth, like he couldn’t believe that his tongue was actually forming those words in reaction to the actions he watched Patrick make. 

“Yeah, is that not okay?” Patrick asked, the corner of his lips twitched and David narrowed his eyes at them. 

“No, I don’t think so,” David shook his head, eyes trained on Patrick’s glass where bubbles were sprouting off of the cherry. 

“Okay, I’ll just take it out,” Patrick reached for a spoon on the adjacent food table. 

“That might be worse. You can just, ignore my judgement and enjoy your incorrect drink,” It pained David to say it, but he did just get to the party and it would be even more incorrect to make an enemy so soon. 

“Oh, I’m going to take it out. You know, the second drink of the night is the one that really sets the tone of the rest of the night,” Patrick spooned it out, draining the drink from his spoon before he caught David’s eye and ate the cherry. 

“Did that-” David cut himself off. He groaned as he contemplated his words. He knew what he wanted to say, but it wasn’t polite, so he tucked his lips into his mouth and bit down, physically keeping the words in. 

“It was delicious,” Patrick smirked. “You can’t go wrong with boozy cherries.”

He took a drink and David mirrored his actions. Patrick hummed as he closed his eyes.

“Cherry Coke. My favorite,” David frowned at Patrick’s wink. “Come on, I’ll reintroduce you to the guys.”

45 minutes later, David was sucked into a game of Catan, sandwiched between Patrick and some guy with a beard. David thinks his name is Nick, he would bet money on it. David stared at the board, traced the path of his road with his eyes and contemplated where he could go. Two more pieces and he would be leaps above everyone else and the longest road card would stay in his hands. David just needed to trade some of the copious amounts of sheep in his hand for some wood.

David held his cards close to his body once he felt Patrick leaning in close to him. 

“I’m coming for your longest road, David,” Patrick whispered. David shivered at the feeling of Patrick’s breath on his neck. Once the tingle reached the base of his spin, David narrowed his eyes and glared at Patrick. 

“You’re not getting your greedy, raccoon hands on it,” David hissed in response. 

Patrick just smiled in response. A full smile. Not just a twitch of the lips. 

“We’ll see about that, David.”

That bastard. David was fuming as he handed the longest road card to Patrick, who was smug and grinning at him. 

“This is a fun game,” Patrick commented. 

Now, instead of being a single point away from winning, David was three points away from winning and Patrick was closer to taking David’s deserved win away from him. Five minutes later, Patrick was declaring his victory and David sat back with a huff. 

“You’re a sore loser,” Patrick commented as he cleaned up his and David’s pieces. 

“Whatever, I’m going to go look at the appetizers because I think I saw some crab cakes and I need to take care of my bruised ego,” David responded. He got up and left the table, filled up his plate with small bites and joined Heather on the couch. 

David still found himself on their balcony within 30 minutes of the ball drop, which Heather had put on the tv at the insistence of one of her players. David had excused himself shortly after, needing to keep that step between him and the city. He still missed it sometimes, even though his life in Toronto had so far surpassed NYC’s memories. 

The glass door slid open behind him and he turned to see who had joined him. 

“What’re you doing out here?” Patrick asked. He lowered himself down into the chair next to David. 

“Just enjoying the last few moments of 2017,” David responded. The skyline was bright and beautiful and if he focused enough, he could see people celebrating in the streets, even though the penthouse was impossibly high in the sky. 

“2017 was that good to you, huh?” Patrick asked. David laughed. 

“I mean, it was better than 2016. Which was better than 2015,” David explained. “So relatively, yeah it did treat me well.”

“Maybe 2018 will be even better,” Patrick suggested. He was drinking a beer now and David stared at the liquid with envy. His cup was empty and he could use another one if a man he barely knew was going to ask him about his life. 

“Maybe,” David shrugged. Patrick’s face glowed in the dim lighting from the apartments around them and David thought he looked quite beautiful, pale skin glowing against his navy blue winter coat and the toque he pulled on. “What about yours?”

Patrick hummed in question as he turned to face David. 

“Predictions for 2018?” David asked, not sure why, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the moment. 

Patrick nodded his head in contemplation before his mouth morphed into a teasing line. 

“I think it’s going to be fun,” Patrick tilted his head. It was endearing, in an annoying, plain way that David never found attractive. Patrick’s eyes raked over David’s face and David felt exposed, too vulnerable and open in the moonlight. 

Before he could respond, someone slid open the glass door. 

“The ball is about to drop!” Heather called out. She was too enthusiastic for a viewing of a disco ball through a tv. 

“That’s our cue,” Patrick stood up and held out a hand. David stared at it for a beat before he took it and allowed Patrick to pull him up. 

Inside Diane was handing out glasses of champagne while Heather was handing out crackers and noise makers. David watched them, unsure of the combination of them, how they worked. Diane was stoic, a little cold, prim and proper and Heather was Heather, a little goofy and had single handedly started a round of karaoke. With an actual machine. 

He accepted the empty glass Diane gave him, then held it out to Heather, who poured it with a heavy hand. The bubbled dripped over the edge and then the ball was dropping and everyone was counting down. Diane sidled up next to Heather, her arm slipping around her waist and while everyone else was counting down, Diane was whispering something to Heather, a wide smile formed the words and then she was bouncing on the balls of her feet. And David saw it, how two very different people could potentially fit together. 

Everyone started cheering, their cries broke his focus and David turned to the tv in time to see old friends of his hugging each other on the tv. He brought the champagne flute up to his lips and tipped it back, taking a sip. He shifted and he caught Patrick’s eyes over the top of the glass. Patrick winked at him and David shook his head with a chuckle. 

*

A block away from David’s apartment was a cafe. It was small and tucked into a building, a little further back from the street. Out of sight enough that there was usually a seat open, even during rush-coffee hours. The coffee was amazing, their espresso never burnt and David had a favorite chair. It was perfectly overstuffed and the one seat in the shop that wasn’t an awful floral print and its side table was the perfect distance from the seat. 

It was early, much earlier than David would usually be out, but there he was, sitting in his usual chair, with his book in one hand and steaming coffee in the other. He put down his coffee, fingers poised to turn the page when someone cleared his throat above them. 

The figure sat down in the armchair next to him and Patrick was smiling at him, a to-go cup in his hand. 

“I was hoping I’d run into you,” Patrick said. David felt his eyebrows knit at their own accord. 

“Why? Are you planning on murdering me?” David asked. It was a reflex and he cringed once he heard the words he said. 

“That’s still up in the air,” Patrick chuckled. “I’ve actually regretted not giving you my phone number or asking you on a date. Told myself that if I didn’t see you within three weeks that I was going to ask Diane for it.” 

David let out a soft  _ ‘oh’  _ at that. “I would be open to entertaining the idea of you giving me your phone number.”

Patrick stifled a smile as David pulled his phone out, unlocked it and handed it to Patrick. 

“I can’t stay, I have a morning skate and then we’re leaving. We have an away game tomorrow and Saturday,” Patrick said as he got up. “But I would like to get dinner with you when I come back. Just, if that’s something you’d like to do, please message me.”

“Okay,” David whispered. He stared at his phone as Patrick handed it back. He took it and held it gingerly with the tips of his fingers. 

“I gotta go, I’m actually late,” Patrick looked at the door but didn’t move. “Text me.”

David nodded as he wished Patrick a safe trip and then watched him walk out of the cafe, a smile tucked into his cheek. 

*

His phone was laughing at him. David was trying to get work done, but his phone was there, on his desk, mocking him and all the texts he had tried to write, drafted to send to Patrick, but deleted in a rush because they all sounded  _ stupid.  _ He sighed, picked up his phone and dropped it into a desk drawer. 

_ Take that, motherfucker. _

David tried really hard not to think about it, about how there was a man that he wanted to text, and how he had to be the one to reach out. Patrick had given  _ him  _ his number, so he had to take the first step in confirming a potential date. But he didn’t have an opener.

Three hours later and David was googling. First it was “hockey”, but then there were too many results. So then it was “Toronto hockey” which wielded less results, but the top hit was a “Toronto Maple Leafs” page, which sounded familiar and a few clicks around the roster and David was looking at Patrick’s “stats” page. None of it made sense, but the schedule said their away game was starting in an hour, so David pulled out his phone and drafted a text. 

_ Good luck at your game! Break a leg! _

He sent it before he could think twice about it. He didn’t expect a response, not for a while anyways. So he packed up his stuff and left his office, phone tucked into his back pocket. Stevie was still chugging away at her computer.

“You staying late?” David asked. He paused at her desk and sat down at one of the chairs she had out for guests. 

“No,” Stevie turned around in her seat, pulling something from a printer. “I just need to send this scan and then I’m leaving.”

“Hot date tonight?” David teased, just to rile her up before he invited her over for Chinese take out and trashy tv. She blushed as she typed on her laptop. “Wait. You have a hot date tonight!”

Stevie kept her eyes trained on the laptop in front of her. The clicking of the keys slowed down, the  _ ‘whoosh’  _ of an email being sent was loud in the quiet office. 

“You know the barista at the coffee shop downstairs?” Stevie started. She closed the laptop and placed it in her bag. “The one with the long pretty hair. Twyla?”

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ Stevie looked nervous as she fiddled with the strap of her bag. 

“Oh,” David gasped as he shimmied his shoulders. “That’s exciting.”

“Please don’t do that,” Stevie said. David bit back a smile at her displeasure. 

“Okay.”

He watched her pack up, his phone still and quiet in his pocket. Stevie paused in her movements to check her phone. She was smiling lightly and David felt warm at the vision, happy to see his friend embracing the moment. His phone buzzed and his breath hitched at the vibration. He held it as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, only to exhale in a rush when he saw that his driver had just pulled up to the building. There was a flicker of disappointment and David cursed himself, and made it a point to not look into that feeling.

“Have fun tonight, Stevie,” David wished her well as he got up. “Have fun with  _ Twyla. _ ”

“Best wishes,” Stevie deadpanned with a glare. 

“Warmest regards!” David called over his shoulder as he walked to the elevator. 

It was hours until David got a text back, after he emptied his takeout containers and switched tv shows three times. 

_ Thank you, David.  _

David smirked down at his phone and watched the dots as Patrick typed a follow up response. He locked it, then snuggled deeper into his blanket. On his tv, Elle Woods was cramming for her LSAT and on his couch, David was flipping through the channels of his brain, looking for a witty remark to send back. In case Patrick wasn’t going to pull his own weight and he needed to carry the conversation. 

_ We won! If you were wondering.  _

He typed out a quick response. 

_ I wasn’t. But I’m glad that your team scored the most points.  _

The reply came fast and David took pride in the fact that Patrick was focusing on him. 

_ I scored the winning goal in OT.  _

There was a moment during Settlers of Catan, right after Patrick announced that he won, where he turned towards David, lips in a tight grin, eyes sparkling, his face alight with  _ gloat.  _ In the heat of the moment, sore after losing, David had narrowed his eyes at Patrick and shook his head. Which Patrick laughed at. 

_ Bragging isn’t a good look for you, Patrick.  _

David untangled himself from his blankets, getting up for another drink. He picked up his glass and ignored the  _ ding  _ of his phone. Just for a second. He placed his cup on the counter, dropped a few ice cubes into the lowball glass and measured and mixed the gin, bitters and sweet vermouth. A proper negroni was stirred, not shaken and topped with the perfect orange twist. He took a steadying drink as his phone chimed again. 

_ Oh, I think it’s a very good look on me. My competitive nature gives me a breathtaking glow.  _

_ I hope I’m not coming on too strong.  _

“Not too strong at all,” David murmured out loud after he scooped his phone back up and took it into the bathroom. Instead David typed back:

_ Oh please, this is nothing compared to how you behaved yourself during NYE _

David turned on the faucet to his bathtub and waited, drumming his fingers under the water current. The water warmed as it cascaded over his skin and once it was the perfect temperature, David plugged the drain and dropped in a plethora of bath products he got during his last trip to Paris and lit candles from the shop across the way from where he bought the bath products. 

He stripped slowly in the dim lighting of his bathroom, peeking at the mirror as he changed. For all the comments that David made about himself and his body, he loved the way he looked in candlelight, how he moved in the flickering orange, how the valleys of his body created their own shadows and the rounder parts were highlighted in the way that was flattering. Patrick responded, but David paid it no mind. Instead he pulled off his silver rings, one at a time, and dropped them into the dish on his vanity. 

David sighed as he lowered himself into the water, the warmth inviting and kneading itself into his muscles. His phone buzzed again on the table next to the bathtub. David rolled his eyes at the angel emoji that Patrick sent in response. The  _ swoop  _ of an incoming text made David smile. 

_ What’re you up to tonight? _

David stretched his legs, propping them up on the edge of the bathtub across from him. The bubbles clung to his feet and David wiggled his toes causing them to slide slowly down his skin. 

_ I’m currently taking a bath.  _ David responded. 

_ An ice bath?  _ Patrick asked. Was that really a question? David pondered the merits of taking a bath that didn’t contain bubbles, but maybe the manly hockey player suffered from too much toxic masculinity to enjoy the finer aspects of bath time. Patrick probably only took ice baths when a physical therapist made him. 

_ Of course not. I’m not a monster.  _

David picked up his drink, the condensation cold against his heated skin and he took a long sip as he sunk further into the bath. 

_ Good. I was worried. Bubble baths are the only acceptable version of baths and ice baths are the worst _

One of David’s few rules when it came to bath time was that he had to put his phone down. It was allowed into the bathroom so he could control the music coming from the speakers that were mounted in the corners of the room. But social media and conversation was not allowed. 

“Just this once,” David muttered as he held his drink in one hand and his phone in the other. 

_ The idea of an ice bath is very unappealing to me. _

This wasn’t his best flirting, but David was too relaxed to care. Patrick was off in whatever part of the world he was in, exactly where had slipped David’s mind when he slipped into the tub, real life gone and forgotten. 

_ Feel free to say no, because I know this is weird. But, can I call you? I’m on my way back to my hotel room and could use company.  _

David grimaced and another text came through. 

_ I hope that wasn’t too forward.  _

Then another. 

_ I’m sorry. I feel like I’m being weird. This is not the impression I wanted to make.  _

David bit back a smile at the message and before he could think twice about it, he reached his thumb to the top of the message, hit Patrick’s information and called. 

“Hi,” Patrick’s voice was breathless and David was flattered to think that it could potentially be because of him. 

“What impression were you hoping to make?” David couldn’t resist asking in lieu of greeting. 

There was a soft chuckle from Patrick’s end of the line. 

“Charming and endearing! I was planning on officially asking you to dinner at the end of our conversation so I was kind of hoping to make a good first impression,” Patrick sighed. David took another sip of his drink.

“There’s still time for you to turn that around,” David shrugged, as if Patrick could see him. Which, that was a thought. Patrick hummed and David looked forward to that point in their--whatever this was. 

“How’s your bath, David?” Patrick asked, voice gentle and low in David’s ear. Patrick’s voice coated the parts of David’s body that rose out of the water, covering David in warmth, creating a perfect seam against the water.

“Very relaxing,” David murmured. 

“What are you drinking?” Scratch that, Patrick’s voice coated him in velvet, in luxury, and David hated that he was drowning in it already. 

“How do you know I’m drinking something?” David teased as he swirled the liquid around in his cup.

“If you drew a proper bath, you’d be drinking something.”

“I’m drinking a negroni,” David supplied. “Have you had one?”

“Nope,” Patrick popped the ‘ _ p’  _ and oh, that was endearing. “Maybe I’ll have one on Sunday. When I take you out for dinner and drinks.”

David chuckled as he blew a bundle of bubbles away from his face. 

“Oh you’re taking me out on Sunday?” David teased. 

“If you’ll let me.”

A door opened and closed on Patrick’s end. 

“Okay,” David breathed. “I’ll allow it.”

David tilted his head back and over the edge of the tub, already on cloud 9.

“I’ll see you then, David.” Patrick’s voice was breathless again and David felt it in his bones, vibrating deep in him. 

“Text me the details,” David said in a whisper. 

“Of course. Good night, David.”

“Good night, Patrick.”

*

The bar was nice, much nicer than David had expected Patrick to take him to. In his mind he had seen large TVs mounted above beer signs and appetizer lists comprised of jalapeño poppers and chicken. Instead, after dinner, Patrick whisked him to a bar on the top floor of a 44-story hotel, where the walls were lined with floor to ceiling windows. They were led to a seating area separate from the main floor of people, where a table was adorned with a ‘ _ Reserved’  _ sign and candles glowing gold in the dim overhead lighting. 

Through the window, the city of Toronto shone bright and David felt himself melt at the image. The city he grew up in had grown up too and on nights like tonight, David didn’t miss NYC. Not with this city drawn out so beautifully. 

Patrick ordered them both a Negroni after they were seated and David smirked when the waitress walked away with a promise to come back soon. 

“So, where were we?” David asked with a purr. He shifted closer to Patrick and Patrick picked up the hand that David placed on his knee, threading their hands together before placing them back on Patrick’s knee. 

“I think you were just about to tell me about how you hate hockey,” Patrick teased. David tilted his head back with a groan. 

“That’s not what I said!” David shook his head before he righted himself to face Patrick head on. “Besides, do we really want to spend our time talking about that? It’s been such a nice night.”

“Dinner was very good,” Patrick teased. He slid his unoccupied hand along the top of the seat behind them, fingers brushing along the shoulder of David’s sweater. 

“So,” David let go of Patrick’s hand so he could turn fully in his seat. He pinched at the shoulder of Patrick’s button up, pulling just a little bit. He hummed at the quality of Patrick’s shirt, much finer than he anticipated. “Why spoil the evening with sports talk?”

“What topic of conversation won’t spoil the evening?” Patrick asked. He tilted his chin up, eyes wide and David was done for. Done for by a man that he purposely left mid-conversation during a holiday party so he could fuck another stranger. “Should we talk about our first impressions of each other?”

David grimaced and shook his head. 

“I’ll take that as a no,” Patrick’s voice had been in a permanent state of teasing all night and David hated to admit that he was enjoying it. 

“That is the correct interpretation,” David whispered. He watched Patrick’s eyes flick from David’s eyes to his lips and back, the air charged and full of static. Patrick was so close, David could easily pull him into a kiss but before he could lift his hand to curl around the back of Patrick’s neck, the waitress was back and placing their drinks on the small table in front of them. 

David reached forward to grab their drinks and handed Patrick’s his. 

“A toast,” David murmured as he held up his glass. Patrick mirrored him. “To having fun in 2018.”

“Cheers,” Patrick whispered back. He  _ clinked  _ his glass against David’s and smiled at David over the top of his glass as he took a drink. “It’s good.”

“Your first Negroni,” David commented, curled back up in his seat, hand back on Patrick’s thigh, but higher. 

“Mhm,” Patrick hummed and that energy was back, cackling between them as Patrick shifted his whole body closer. 

“I forgot what we were talking about,” David gasped as Patrick traced a thumb over David’s bottom lip. 

“I don’t think I want to talk right now,” Patrick was all confidence in his jeans from a brand David couldn’t put his finger on, which, honestly, wasn’t a good sign and a deliciously soft light blue button up. 

“That’s valid,” David breathed. “We did talk all throughout dinner.”

“We did,” Patrick agreed. “You learned about Sprankles, my childhood cat. I learned about that time your mom cooked enchiladas and your whole family got sick from it.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe I told you about that,” David grimaced, but Patrick was so close and his chin was tilted up, his lips so appealing. 

“I’m glad you told me about that,” Patrick’s voice was soft and David remembered how it filled him with warmth the other night in the bath. He wanted to drown in the feeling, and the way that Patrick was looking at him now, he thinks Patrick would be a willing accomplice. 

“It’s great blackmail material,” David kept it going, needing the teasing almost as much as he needed Patrick to kiss him. 

Patrick hummed before he pulled David closer to him, finger nestled underneath David’s chin. David  _ swooned  _ as Patrick kissed him, his lips soft and insistent, gentle and warm. Patrick pulled back, ready to break the kiss, but David didn’t want him to go, not yet. So he wrapped his hand around the back of Patrick’s neck and held him there a beat longer. 

When they did pull away, Patrick’s eyes were wide and earnest. David let all the air out of his lungs in one big rush, and kept his hand on Patrick as Patrick leaned back. Patrick was smiling and then something shifted and David narrowed his eyes suspiciously. 

“You taste like pasta and Negroni,” Patrick teased and David huffed out a loud breath. 

“You just talked your way out of a second date,” David let go of Patrick’s neck to throw his hand in the air, mindful of his other hand that still gripped on to his glass.

“Did I really?” Patrick asked, eyes trained back on David’s lips. David preened under the attention.

“Not if you kiss me again,” David said with a smirk. “We’re in a very dark, secluded corner of the bar, where no one will notice if we just sit here and kiss for the next hour.”

“So, if I keep kissing you, it’ll guarantee me a second date?” Patrick was smiling a soft smile. All of David’s disastrous first dates reeled through his mind and they were all worth it for him to have this good one. 

“Yep,” David confirmed, but before the entire word was out of his mouth, Patrick was kissing him again and David was laughing through the kiss. 

*

David was floating, gliding through the air at work, body so full of outstanding adoration and happiness that he couldn’t contain it. Last night had been a dream and when he walked into work, David had shushed Stevie before she could make a comment about his exuberant exterior and he closed the door to his office with a sigh and settled into the hope and happiness he felt. 

For once, David was floating and not desperately looking for a tether. 

“We both had good first dates, then,” Stevie said once David finally let her into his office, only on the guise that she had assistant tasks to do with him. Which apparently included talking about their dates, and for once David was more than willing to talk about it outside the blanket fort that included tv, weed and copious snacks. 

“It would appear so,” David snarked with no heat behind his words. 

“Do you want to tell me about yours first. It was with that hockey player, right?” Stevie tilted her head, eyes blank and David paused, trying to figure out if she said “hockey player” in a mocking tone or just a regular tone. 

“It was,” David confirmed, because whatever Stevie was doing at the moment, would be worth it in the end because he did want to brag a little bit. He had earned the right after years of failing in the dating scene. “He is a very nice kisser and has amazing thighs.” 

“Did ya fuck him?” Stevie asked. 

“No. I did invite him back to my apartment for a night cap, but he had a morning skate at an ungodly hour, whatever that was, so he had to politely decline because we were both already a little tipsy,” David explained. 

“Oh,” Stevie sighed, lips tilted down in a frown. 

“What? What do you mean ‘ _ oh’ _ ?!” David copied, his voice rising at the end. “Stevie!”

“It’s just that usually, you don’t have any problems closing the deal on the first date,” Stevie said and oh, there it was, that tether David had been avoiding. “I’m sure he’s interested.”

David gripped his phone as he sunk back into his desk chair, his body slowly going numb as he contemplated if he just completely read the signs wrong. 

“He texted me good morning,” David offered up weakly. “There’s another date scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. For lunch.”

Stevie tilted her head side to side as she contemplated what David said. 

“That’s chivalrous,” Stevie commented. 

“Yeah, it was also very early in the morning,” David grimaced. He had woken up at 8:30 and the text had been sitting on his phone with a time stamp that made his eyes water. “How about your date?”

Stevie blushed before looking away. 

“It was really good. We’re going out again tonight. Well, she’s cooking dinner tonight so I’m going to her place,” Stevie said. 

“Please don’t get murdered,” David said through gritted teeth. 

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Stevie teased. 

“Don’t get used to it,” David chided. “Now, were you able to finalize the outline for the meeting with the seamstress for the show?” 

Stevie sighed once David shifted into work mode. 

*

David had left their first date full of warmth and hope, and was entering their second full of fear and anxiety. He blamed it on Stevie. Patrick had made him feel good, optimistic, but Stevie reminded him that at the end of the day, he was a man who historically did not do well in partnerships or relationships of any kind. So now David was mortified that he’d destroyed their potential relationship before it ever took off —he could add Patrick’s name to the long list of lovers he’d scare off. And Patrick he’d scare off with no fond bedroom memories to tide him over during long, lonely nights. 

_ I’m downstairs  _

The text stared up at him and with a heavy breath, David decided to just rip the band aid off and go have lunch with Patrick, get the afternoon over with so he could go back up to his office in shame once Patrick told him that he wasn’t actually interested. Because Patrick seemed like the kind of guy that would say it to David’s face instead of hiding behind a text message. Which, honestly, would save David some type of embarrassment. 

David could do it. He’d get through it, he had to, even though he actually was starting to really like Patrick. He’d make it through their parting of ways unscathed and he’d be a better person for it. 

Except Patrick was waiting for him in the lobby of the building, wearing a suit. He was fiddling with his phone, the nerves evident on his face, but he was wearing a  _ suit  _ and David was pissed that that unassuming man looked so good in a suit. Patrick looked so nice and tidy with his clean hair cut. The crisp lines of the suit looked neater and more designer than he anticipated Patrick would ever wear. And the nervous smile on his face grew wide once he noticed David. 

David crossed the lobby to meet Patrick, stopping short right in front of him. 

“Hi,” Patrick’s voice was soft again and David melted at the sound. 

“Hi,” David breathed back. Patrick looked unsure, but then his face cleared and he stepped forward to press a quick kiss against David’s cheek. 

When Patrick stepped back, his smile was wide and bright and he almost looked proud. Which made David feel good. But also Patrick was in front of him, looking oh so beautiful in a suit, so David didn’t know if Patrick looking proud of himself for kissing David on the cheek was what made him feel good, or if it was Patrick in a  _ suit  _ that made him feel good. 

“I suddenly feel underdressed,” David stated as he stretched his jaw and turned suspicious eyes towards Patrick. “I’m never the one in an outing to feel underdressed.”

The corner of Patrick’s lip twitched and David really wanted to press his thumb into the tissue. 

“You look very nice David,” Patrick shifted to place a hand on David’s hip, slid it to his lower back and led him to the door. “Perfect for a lunch date.”

David blushed at the compliment. He let Patrick lead him out the front doors and into the street. They were quiet as they walked, absorbed in avoiding the early lunch crowd. 

“So, why are you wearing a suit?” David asked once they were at the restaurant and waiting for their table. They were standing close together and David couldn’t help but run his hands over the lapels of Patrick’s jacket, before pinching at the fabric and running through his suppliers and fabric swatches, trying to place the type. 

“It’s game day,” Patrick supplied. Only those three words left Patrick’s mouth and David dropped Patrick’s lapels and took a step back. 

“I don’t know what that means,” David said with a shake of his head.

“Hockey players wear suits on game days,” Patrick explained. “I don’t want to rush lunch today just to change before the game.”

“Oh you have a game today?” David asked, because he felt like he should. Which was the correct thing to do apparently because Patrick lit up like a child whose father finally agreed to let him get rhinoplasty. 

“Yes! We’re playing the Florida Panthers,” Patrick said. 

“Ew, Florida?” David felt a tingle of disgust run up his spine. 

“Mhm,” Patrick laughed. He stepped back into David’s space and David blushed at the action. “That was the correct response.”

“When Florida is involved, it’s always the correct response,” David snarked. 

“Wanna come to the game tonight?” Patrick asked, eyes wide and sincere. That was going to get him in trouble, David thought. Those eyes were wide and beautiful and once upon a time, David would’ve done absolutely anything for absolutely anyone who looked at him with at least a quarter of that emotional attention. 

“Table for David!” A voice called out and David sighed in relief at the hostess. When they sat down, Patrick sat adjacent to him and David tried not to act surprised. Patrick just smiled a crooked smile at him and opened the menu. 

“Anything you recommend?” Patrick asked as he browsed. 

“Everything is good. I will be getting the lemon-ricotta pancakes with blueberry compote and a side of bacon, coffee and maybe a glass of orange juice,” David said. He pushed the menu away from him, ready to order. 

Patrick hummed as he closed his menu. 

“They have build your own waffles,” Patrick patted the menu. “That will always be the winner.”

“Fruity or dessert-y waffles?” David asked. He picked up his glass of water, taking a sip while Patrick relaxed into his seat. 

“I prefer a sweet waffle, but I try to eat healthy on game days,” Patrick fiddled with his silverware. 

“Are waffles healthy?” David cocked an eyebrow at Patrick. 

“I try to eat  _ relatively _ healthy,” Patrick corrected himself. David bit back a smile, amused as Patrick continued. “I try to eat something that won’t upset my stomach or make me feel too heavy or sluggish.”

“Oh, so you can skate around and stuff,” David trailed off, not sure where he was going with that or what his objective was. 

“And stuff,” Patrick agreed. 

Their waiter came by, pen ready and poised. 

“So, I’m taking that it’s a no to you coming and watching the game tonight,” Patrick teased, leaning in towards David. 

“Oh, it is much too early in this, whatever this is, for me to go to a sportsball game. I have a history of giving too much too early in a relationship and I draw the line at hockey,” David waved a hand in the air. He narrowed an eye at Patrick’s teeth digging his teeth into his bottom lip. 

“Would you rather I tease you about the sports comment or ask you about your past relationships?” Patrick asked, eyebrows drawn up in the center. 

David stared wide eyed at Patrick as he reared his head back in surprise. Patrick just tilted his head in response. 

“The sports comment,” David sighed and steeled himself, ready for whatever comment Patrick was going to make. 

“Is it still considered ‘sportsball’ if hockey uses a puck?” Patrick asked, a smile teasing his lips. David held his breath as he contemplated if Patrick was insufferable or incredibly charming. “A puck isn’t technically a ball.”

David just stared at him and he decided that Patrick was insufferable. But in a charming way. 

“You’re getting really close to not getting a third date,” David whispered. Patrick chuckled as he dipped his head and looked up at David through his eyelashes. 

“Does the suit cancel out the last 30 seconds?” Patrick offered. “I think you said I looked incredibly handsome. If I recall correctly.”

“I don’t think I said that, but you do look very handsome,” David whispered, laying a hand on Patrick’s arm. “What designer is this? I don’t recognize the stitching and it feels too nice to be cheap.”

“It’s State and Liberty,” Patrick supplied. David shook his head, not recognizing the brand. 

“It’s this clothing company that designs its clothes specifically for athletic builds. A lot of players I know like to buy clothes from them. They have good sizing options for our hockey thighs,” Patrick explained and David felt his brain short circuit. 

“Hockey thighs?” David asked, voice a whisper of desire. 

“Yeah,” Patrick blushed. He shrugged as he continued. “We get most of our power from our legs, so our thighs are pretty important for the game.”

David stopped listening as Patrick rattled off measurements and skating physics, instead all David could think about was his head in between Patrick’s muscular “hockey thighs”, and digging his fingers into the skin. 

“Mhm, okay. I think that if you don’t want me to get us kicked out of this restaurant before our food arrives, then I think we should move on from the thigh talk?” David suggested. Patrick chuckled as he looked down and shook his head lightly. When he looked back up at David, he had a large, bashful smile on his face and David shook his head at him. “Not a word!”

“Okay, David.”

When the bill came, they fought over it and David only won because he actually slapped Patrick’s hand, which had him blushing and David turned predatory. 

“Did that just do something for you?” David asked, voice full of mirth. 

“For the first time ever, it did,” Patrick hid his face behind his hands. “I’m very shocked right now and kind of embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. We’re going to have fun later after our third date,” David warned. 

“I earned a third date?” Patrick asked with glee. 

“Yeah, but don’t get ahead of yourself. Your hockey thighs are what did it,” David snapped. Patrick laughed, following David out of the restaurant.

David texted Patrick before the game, wishing him luck and to ‘ _ break a leg!’  _

_ I don’t think break a leg is appropriate. I think that only works for performances.  _ Patrick texted back. 

David sighed as he leaned against his desk and typed out a response. 

_ Aren’t sports just one long, choreographed, completely unnecessary performance where you’re entertaining an audience?  _

Patrick’s reply was instant. 

_ You have so much to learn, David. Ttyl.  _

Which was  **incorrect.**

*

David was floating, except it felt like he was floating through a pool of molasses. So maybe he wasn’t floating, but he was suspended. It was like someone had drawn a piece of string through his body, dunked him in a pool of molasses, pushed him down until he was completely submerged and couldn’t reach the top, and then dragged him through the sticky syrup.

Except he was sitting on his couch, in his penthouse apartment and Patrick was on top of him, covering him, placing kisses and soft bites on every available inch of David’s skin. His hands were in David’s sweater, his legs entangled in David’s and David had  _ never  _ felt better. Patrick groaned as he pushed himself against David. Patrick was hard and David gasped at the sensation. He dug his fingers into Patrick’s hips, drawing him closer before he slid them around to Patrick’s ass to nudge Patrick to grind harder. 

“Oh my god, Patrick,” David moaned. But then Patrick stopped moving and backed off, putting too much space between them. “Wait. Where are you going?”

“Sorry,” Patrick said between heaving breaths. “If I kept going I was going to come in my pants like a teenager.”

“Oh fuck,” David gasped as he dropped his head back onto the couch. That would be  _ hot.  _ Getting to see Patrick come and experience that pleasure. “I would  _ love  _ to see that. Wanna watch you come.”

Patrick’s eyes were wide and dark, heavy with want and if Patrick kept looking at David like that, then  _ David  _ was going to come in his pants. Patrick cleared his throat and looked away from David, skin flushed all the way down to where Patrick’s 4th shirt button was undone, the 5th just barely holding on. 

“I want to show you,” Patrick stated as he shifted and sat back on the couch. David stared at Patrick, a million thoughts ran through his brain as he was yanked out of the pool of molasses. “But I think I would come as soon as I touched myself.”

“That is, okay,” David said with a chuckle as he sat up. Patrick shook his head, joining David in laughter. 

They sat together, hands clasped in the space between them. David wanted to say something. He had words in his mind, about how much he was enjoying being with Patrick, about how he was learning that he wanted a full on relationship with Patrick, wanted to tell him just how much he  _ likes  _ and adores Patrick. But they faded on his tongue. 

He was pretty sure that Patrick knew, though. There were a few times where Patrick would look at him with those soft brown eyes, so full of warmth that it would hit David like a truck. It happened over negronis, and cosmos, and pizza nights, and dinners at nice restaurants. He was pretty sure that Patrick could see through him, see his heart beating faster every time Patrick was near him. Patrick had to have noticed that David melted every time Patrick smiled at him. 

“I uh,” Patrick cleared his throat. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”

David froze, every romantic thought left his brain in a hurry. 

_ So that’s why he hasn’t fucked you yet. He doesn’t want you.  _

“Okay,” David breathed. He stared at his tv, suddenly wishing that they had turned it on once they got back to David’s after their dinner date. It was Patrick’s nervous chuckle that made David look at him. He rolled his shoulders back, steeled his heart and prepared himself to take whatever Patrick was going to say. 

“I uh,” Patrick was blushing. “Um, are, how do you-- we--I want--. Why do I keep messing this stuff up? I really like you. I like you so much. And I think I might be ready for more soon. I know I told you I needed to take this slow--and I still mean and want that. But, soon, I’ll be ready for more. So soon. Not today. Maybe not next week. But I need you to know that I’ve been thinking about it and I need you to know how much I like you and want that stuff with you.”

David felt his heart stop and he clutched Patrick’s hand, which was thankfully, still holding his own. 

“I was hoping to be more suave than that,” Patrick chuckled at himself. David slowly regained feeling in his body, the numbness trickling out of him. Patrick stuttered his way through something else, but David could barely hear him over the blood rushing in his ears. Patrick trailed off once he realized David wasn’t paying attention. “David?”

“We can be more and do more, whenever you’re ready, as long as you never start another conversation with  _ ‘we need to talk’, _ ” David murmured. He let go of Patrick’s hand, bringing both up to his face, covering himself. “You scared the shit out of me, Patrick.”

“I’m sorry, David,” Patrick shifted and pressed a kiss to the space next to David’s ear. “I’m sorry that I worried you, and that you’re stuck with someone who can’t articulate their feelings.”

David teased Patrick with a smirk. “You are the worst.” But he smoothed the comment with a kiss until Patrick was laughing. 

“I like you,” Patrick continued as he pressed more kisses into David’s skin. 

“I feel the same way,” David said, his voice taking a dreamy timber that he would be embarrassed about after they had their moment. “Wanna pick up a few steps back with the physical stuff?” 

He tilted his head away from Patrick, accepting the kisses he was pressing into his skin. 

“I actually need to leave soon,” Patrick said, lips skimming over David’s skin. “Early flight tomorrow.”

“Ugh, I hate you,” David huffed as Patrick stood up. 

He stood in front of David, stooping down to kiss him. David’s hands went immediately to Patrick’s hips, their favorite resting location. Patrick stepped away with a groan and buttoned up his shirt. 

“Can I swing by when I come back on Wednesday?” Patrick asked, sighing as David’s hands trailed over his thighs. 

“Please do.”

David stood up with Patrick, walking with him to the door. 

“Text me when you get home?” David asked before he accepted the kiss Patrick’s lips were pursed for. 

“Of course.”

Twenty minutes later, David was in the bathroom, getting ready for bed when he got a text. 

_ I’m home. See you Wednesday, David.  _

*

“Remind me why we’re doing this?” David asked when Patrick opened the door. Patrick took David’s bag from his gloved hand and David wrapped his arms around his body, shivering against the cold.

“Do you want me to answer that now or wait until you come in?” Patrick asked as he leaned against his open door, his pale skin turning red at the cold. “I’m shivering just looking at you.”

“Okay, yes, please move,” David barreled past Patrick into the mud room and  _ oh.  _ “I’m very much appreciating the temperature at which you run your heater.”

“I cranked it a few minutes ago. Figured you’d be extra cold after making the trek,” David wanted to glare at Patrick, but he did indeed appreciate it and actively decided not to make a comment in case it dissuaded Patrick from doing it in the future. 

David pulled off his gloves, followed by his layers and finally his boots, sitting on the padded bench to unlace them. 

“Can you hand me my bag? I want to get my house boots,” David asked with an outstretched hand. 

“Not slippers?” Patrick asked as he handed the bag off. 

“My ankles get cold,” David supplied. He stood up once he slid his uggs on and grabbed at Patrick.

“Hi,” Patrick said. He swooped into David’s arms and David wrapped his own around Patrick’s shoulders. 

“Hi,” David whispered. Patrick’s eyes flickered between David’s eyes and lips, so David closed the gap, kissing Patrick lightly in greeting. “Thank you for inviting me over.”

“Of course,” Patrick’s smile was wide. “I am genuinely surprised and happy that you came over to watch hockey with me.”

“I only accepted the invite for the game day food,” David teased.

“Good thing I bought extra dip,” Patrick swayed them, his arms strong around David’s waist, nudging him to move. This time Patrick kissed him, with a bit of a bite this time. When David pulled away, Patrick’s eyes were glittering and David knew him well enough to know that whatever was about to come out of his mouth was going to lead to an eye-roll, so he cut him off before Patrick could say anything. 

“You have a lovely home,” David said as he pulled out, just a fraction, from the circle of Patrick’s arms. “Very functional mudroom.”

“Thank you. I designed it myself,” Patrick responded. 

“Show me the rest of the house?” David asked as he trailed his pointer fingers over Patrick’s shoulders. 

“Of course.”

Patrick’s house was better than David thought it was going to be, more mid-century modern with a splash of contemporary rather than arts and crafts. The furniture was simple but high quality, with crisp lines in pillows and picture frames. The kitchen was clean, light and  _ used,  _ with a cast iron skillet sitting on the stove. There were more plants than he was expecting and he saw a flash of a cat out of the corner of his eye, Butters, Patrick assured him, would be out soon, once she realized David wasn’t actively trying to murder them. David narrowed his eyes at the tone of Patrick’s sentence, like Patrick was questioning it as he said it. 

The solid coffee table was full of food and David was in heaven once he loaded up a plate and sat in the corner seat of Patrick’s dark blue sectional. The TV, large enough to fit David’s standards, was set to CBC already, and  _ stats _ , whatever the fuck that was, was being talked about. 

“So, why exactly are we watching the hockey?” David asked around a bite of pigs-in-a-blanket. 

“Why not?” Patrick asked in response and David could think of a million  _ “why nots”  _ but Patrick looked too excited for David to want to burst that bubble. “Figured it could be fun to watch with you.”

Which David knew meant that Patrick wanted to share it with him. Because he was that kind of person. And no matter how much David didn’t want to watch “the game”, he was going to, because Patrick asked and the season was in full swing, whatever that meant, and David couldn’t see Patrick as often as he wanted to. 

“I think you and I have different definitions of fun,” David grimaced before taking a large bite of baguette and spinach-artichoke dip. “Oh this is delicious.”

“Try the wings,” Patrick offered his plate to David as he settled in next to him. David accepted one, the wing slippery with sauce. 

“You know, I’ve gained 5 pounds since we started dating,” David commented. He started yoga a week back once he realized that he was very comfortable in their relationship and that being that comfortable came with unexpected weight gain. 

“Oh?” Patrick asked with a hum as he ate his own wing. 

“Yeah, apparently dating an athlete does not mean I can eat like an athlete,” David took a bite from the wing and groaned at the taste of it. 

“David,” Patrick said as he dropped a clean bone onto the plate on his lap. He turned to David, lip quirking up into a smile at the imagine of David nibbling on the end of a bone. “I mean this in the best way possible, but I truly do not care what you look like.”

David felt himself blush as he put the bone down on his plate. He played with a piece of baguette under Patrick’s gaze. He was  _ not  _ going to suck the delicious sauce off his fingers in front of Patrick—not when Patrick was looking at him like  _ that.  _

“Thank you,” David murmured, still not accustomed to Patrick’s sincerity. “But I will still be going to yoga.”

“I can come with you one day,” Patrick offered. 

“Oh, it is much too early in our relationship for you to see me sweating for a reason that isn’t sex,” David responded, Patrick laughed, and they sat and ate together. 

Players skated out on the ice, so David took a steadying breath, steeled his nerves and put his empty plate on the coffee table. 

“Okay, is this a ‘I can sit here on my phone’ type of a thing or are you going to get mad if I don’t watch?” David asked. 

Patrick turned his head to face David. “Uh. I would appreciate if you tried watching the first period. After that, feel free to do what you want.”

“How long is a period?” David asked. He probably should’ve googled hockey before he went to Patrick’s, but hindsight is 20/20. 

“20 minutes,” Patrick replied as his plate joined David’s. David shifted closer, preening when Patrick lifted his arm and David slid underneath, into Patrick’s warm embrace. 

“Wait,” David gasped once the math settled in. “I have to watch an hour of hockey?”

“You only have to pay attention to the first 20 minutes, if you don’t like it, you can do whatever you want for the other 40 minutes of regulation,” Patrick compromised. “But there are intermissions and you can choose what we do during those.”

“Okay,” David huffed. The players lined up on the screen, ready and poised. There was a referee in the middle, and then a finger underneath David’s chin. 

David’s line of vision was tilted up and over, right to Patrick. 

“Thank you for doing this for me, David,” Patrick murmured into the space between them before he kissed David, slow and sweet. When he pulled back, David blinked his eyes open, slower than Patrick had kissed him, then the sound of skates filled the air and David sunk back into Patrick’s side. 

“One condition to this whole thing,” David said as he waved his hand at the tv. 

“Okay,” Patrick nodded. 

“Please don’t explain too much to me. I don’t feel like having hockey sports-splained to me when I’m the one doing you a favor,” David said in grievance. “After the curling incident of 2012, I refuse to sit through that again.”

“What happened in 2012?” Patrick asked, David just glared at him and watched the follow up question shrivel up on Patrick’s tongue. 

“So, who is playing?” David asked. If he was going to sit through this, he needed enough information to be able to convincingly tell Stevie that he did in fact, sit through a game. 

“Montreal and Boston,” Patrick said, a hard edge to his voice. 

“And who do we want to win?” David asked. 

“Neither of them,” Patrick's voice was dripping with disgust. David twisted a smile at him. 

“Who do we want to lose more?” David asked in follow up. 

“Boston,” Patrick grimaced at the word and David held back a laugh. 

“Why?” 

“Because they're assholes,” Patrick huffed. “Don’t get me started.”

“Okay,” David felt Patrick’s arm tighten around him and pull him closer. There was a soft kiss on the top of his head, then they were both sinking further into the sofa. 

David watched the little figures zip around the screen, the sharp sound of their blades cutting the ice filled the room, but even the sound of sticks slapping around wasn’t covering Patrick’s murmurings of hatred. 

“So the goal is to get the puck into the net?” David asked. 

“Yes,” Patrick responded. His answer short and sweet, which David appreciated. 

“Okay, and--” David’s question was cut off by a camera zoom and the image of a player being body slammed into what looked like a glass board. “Wait! Is hockey dangerous?!”

“Uh,” Patrick grew silent and David hoped it was because he was contemplating his words and not because he was gearing up to lie. 

“Patrick,” David warned. 

“It’s not the safest sport. I’ve had teammates who have gotten slight concussions before even with the helmets. But it’s nowhere near as bad as football,” Patrick soothed a hand over David’s furrowed brow. 

“Okay but what kind of physical harm are we talking about?” David asked. Before Patrick could answer, another group of people slammed against the glass, slapping their sticks around. David assumed the puck was at their feet, but he couldn’t tell. All of a sudden the players were off of the wall, but two players in different colors threw down their sticks and pulled their gloves off and--

“Patrick! They’re fighting!” David waved a hand in the air, precariously close to Patrick’s face. Patrick flinched and David reigned his hand in, closer to his own body. “Do you start fights with people?!”

“No,” Patrick grabbed David’s hand with his free one, calming the nerves that had been quickly frayed and dismembered. “I believe in taking a pacifist approach when it comes to hockey and fighting.” Patrick paused. “Have you ever been punched in the face? Doesn’t feel good.”

David side-eyed Patrick, because he’s starting to really know Patrick, and he’s seen Patrick’s competitive side and he can 100% envision Patrick fighting on the ice. 

“Mhm, okay,” David just nods along with Patrick’s statement, letting him have this one. “Just don’t expect me to take care of you after you get punched in the face. I don’t do raw meat.”

Patrick huffs at him, stifles his laughter and  _ oh no.  _

“Will you take my meat raw?” Patrick smirks and David knows he set himself up too perfectly for that one. 

“Oh, please. You’re such a bottom. It’s going to be a while before we end up having that conversation,” David snips back. He smiles once he sees Patrick register that David won the gold on that banter.

They settle back into each other and focus back on the game. David has trouble following the puck as it’s slapped back and forth, but he learns how to follow the players, see who is fenageling their stick back and forth and he gets the hang of it. 

And he is pleasantly surprised to realize that he doesn’t hate it. He doesn’t love it, but it’s not boring like golf and the rules aren’t complex like they are in football. He doesn’t like the close ups of players where he can see them chewing on their mouthguards, or when he can see their lack of teeth, or when he’s assaulted with bad facial hair. But he likes watching their bodies move on the ice, graceful when they switch directions quickly and he enjoys laughing when multiple people fall at once, like little multicolored dominoes. 

He wonders what Patrick looks like on the ice and he hates that he hadn’t cared enough before now to google videos of Patrick playing. 

Him and Patrick made small talk throughout the rest of the first period, mostly little jokes that wouldn’t make sense to anyone besides them. Patrick tells him little anecdotes and spends a little time shitting on Montreal, but even more time shitting on Boston. 

“Did you know that people call people from Massachusetts  _ ‘Massholes’ _ ,” Patrick said and David had gagged at the thought. 

“Who calls them that?” David asked in disgust. 

“People,” Patrick shrugged and David’s body moved with it. “Learned that from one of the Sharks.”

David raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Team from Northern California,” Patrick explained. “I trust them more than someone from Boston, so I’m taking their word for it.”

“Are there any other states you have opinions on?” David asked, intrigued. “You don’t like Massachusetts or Florida. Don’t seem to mind California.”

“I haven’t heard great things about Wisconsin,” Patrick murmured.

“The serial killers?” David asked as Patrick nodded. 

“I’ve never been, but I listen to true crime podcasts on the plane when we travel,” Patrick explained. “So by that logic, we can add the whole of the Pacific Northwest to the list. Been to Texas. Food was good but the state as a whole was not my favorite.”

The conversation trailed off as things got heated on the screen.

They made out a little during the intermission before Patrick fed David little bites of food, which was something that David pretended to not appreciate, but he made sure to curl his tongue around the tips of Patrick’s fingers as he accepted bites. 

David was sucked into the game during the second period, and they had shifted so they were laying together on the couch, David’s body half covering Patrick, who acted like David’s bodyweight wasn’t an issue, which was greatly appreciated. 

“When did you come out?” Patrick asked as he combed through David’s hair with his fingers. He scratched his nails against his scalp, then ran his fingers through the strands and twisted the ends with his fingertips. David’s eyes were trained on the tv, watching in anticipation as players swarmed around the Bruins’ net. 

“Wha?” David grunted. 

“When did you come out as pan?” Patrick clarified and  _ oh,  _ they were having this conversation. Now. On the couch, with a hockey game on and David’s belly full of snacks. 

“In college. I brought a couple home one day and just told my parents to get over it,” David chuckled at the memory, his laugh shaking Patrick underneath him. “You should’ve seen their faces. It was priceless.”

The timer on the corner of the screen ticked under five minutes. David turned his head so he was looking up at Patrick, his chin resting on Patrick’s sternum. Patrick’s fingers trailed from David’s hair to trace over his lips. 

They hadn’t talked about this yet. David had wanted to ask, but it just never seemed like the right time. Patrick was a gay  _ hockey player.  _ Nothing about the NHL was actually inclusive, no matter what anyone said, and he constantly thought about Patrick and his journey. 

“When did you come out?” David asked as he pressed a kiss against Patrick’s chest, the thin sweater warm from Patrick’s skin underneath.

“I came out to my parents two years ago. My team, a little less than a year ago,” Patrick murmured. His hand was back on David, this time resting lightly on the base of David’s neck and David was so happy for the connection, grateful to be tethered to Patrick. 

“How did that go?” David followed up. 

“My parents or the team?” Patrick asked. 

“Both,” David cleared his throat. “I wanna know about both.”

Patrick made a noise at the back of his throat before he pulled at David. David moved with Patrick’s hand, shifting so he was laying completely on Patrick. The kiss was featherlight against David’s lips. When he moved back, Patrick’s eyes were wide and wet. 

“So, I don’t, uh,” Patrick cleared his throat with a watery laugh. “I was engaged. To a woman.”

“Oh,” David instinctively sat up, putting distance between their two bodies. Patrick followed, sitting cross-legged on the couch, facing David. 

“So when I came out, everyone was really surprised. I told my parents the same night I told them that I called off the wedding,” Patrick chewed on his bottom lip. “I just broke down. Cried in front of them, told them that I was sorry for lying for so long. They were really supportive. Helped me find this house, so I could have a fresh start.”

“They seem like lovely people. From all you’ve me about them,” David held out his hand, and Patrick took it with a hard squeeze. 

“They are. I really appreciate them. They’ve been my rock through it all,” Patrick’s voice was strained and David opened his arms, beckoning Patrick closer. Patrick spilled into his arms and David mouthed along Patrick’s temple. 

“And your team?” David asked, his voice quiet. Patrick slumped further into his arms, groaning his response. “Take your time, Patrick.”

Patrick wiggled and David knew Patrick was getting ready to burrow into him, seek shelter in David’s body. 

“Some people were very supportive, some pretended to be, and some weren’t at all,” Patrick’s fingers were twisted into David’s sweater, but David didn’t want him to let go. He wanted to be Patrick’s anchor, just like Patrick had grown to be for David. “The whole team dynamic changed. I hoped that it wouldn’t. In hockey, a team works as one single unit. We have to be on the same wavelength, every single second of the game. 

“I told them that I was gay and in an instant, they treated me differently. I had never heard an actual  _ ‘no homo’  _ until after I came out. It was like every practice and game day spent together meant nothing. They walked on eggshells around me for months,” Patrick pressed his face into David’s neck and David could feel Patrick’s eyes watering against him, feel the tears seeping into David’s skin. “It was like every time I tried to remind them that I was the same me, they got farther away. There was some negative press and pushback from fans. It was a mess.”

David ran his fingers through the short hairs on the back of Patrick’s neck, keeping him close.

“What changed? It seems like you guys are close,” David asked. At both holiday parties he was at, they had all seemed to get along, joking with each other. They had all been warm and welcoming with David too, and he wore his pansexuality as a badge of honor.

“It was a tweet, actually. From a guy that’s really big in the hockey world. He said some really awful things and directed it to me. I didn’t know what to do. I hadn’t gotten a publicist yet. Didn’t seem necessary. It happened right before a morning skate,” Patrick’s voice wavered and he sat back, pushing back against the ring of David’s arms. He loosened his grip, but Patrick stayed close. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin splotchy with red. 

He continued:

“I went in and everyone was sitting down in the locker room. It was so quiet and I knew someone was about to say something. And Lucas, he stood up and just said  _ ‘what he said was really fucked up’  _ and I just laughed and said it was.” 

Patrick chuckled. “Then Lucas gave me a slap on the ass and told me that I didn’t deserve that kind of treatment and that Maple Leafs had to stick together. Then he just turned around and started putting on his uniform. Everyone else got up, gave me a slap on the ass, put their gear on and we went out to skate. That moment just broke the tension. The players all tweeted in support of me.

“It was still kind of awkward, but when I approached the head coach with some ideas for  _ ‘Hockey is for everyone month’  _ he took them all seriously. Then Heather joined management and was really open about her relationship with Diane.”

Patrick trailed off. David was stunned into silence. 

“I think they just needed to get that ignorance out before they could really accept me,” Patrick wiped at his face, the back of his hand dragged harshly against his skin and David wrinkled his eyes at the action. But it wasn’t the time to tell Patrick to pat, not tug. “We’re great now and the whole team is excited for the events we have going on this month.”

They sat there, with Patrick looking at David wordlessly, while David’s tongue caught up to his brain. 

“I’m really happy that they came around for you, Patrick,” David’s chest swelled with emotion. He didn’t want to imagine that pain that came from watching the people you love and respect turn on you so suddenly. 

David had never had anyone doubt the part of his sexuality that enjoyed the company of men. He had gotten a few  _ ‘huh’s  _ when people learned he wasn’t gay, but growing up in the environment he had and then being surrounded by his art community in New York, had been easy. He wanted to say more, to let Patrick know what he was feeling, but he didn’t have the words, almost felt like he didn’t have the right to comment on it. 

“I think you could say that everything came up roses,” Patrick joked with a breathtaking smile and David was so relieved but also kind of mad. 

“No,” David shook his head violently. “None of that please.”

“But David!” Patrick tired to whine, but he broke into a full body laugh too soon. 

“Nope!” David turned back to the game, just in time to see Montreal take the lead. “We’re done with that.”

Patrick laughed in response, but didn’t say anything for the rest of the period. They stayed quiet during the second intermission. 

Then with only five minutes left of the third period and Montreal leading Boston 4-2, Patrick’s fingers were back to combing through David’s hair and David was so, so close to sleep, curled into Patrick, warm from their proximity. He was teetering on the delicious edge of sleep and consciousness when Patrick’s fingers paused. 

“I have a question,” Patrick spoke. 

“Mkay,” David hummed non committedly. 

“I think I know the answer to this,” Patrick paused. “But will you come to my next home game? It’s on Thursday.”

David opened an eye and raised it’s brow. He knew this was coming. When Patrick asked him to come watch this game, he knew an actual, physical game was next. All the mental preparation that David had gone through for this moment, didn’t make it any easier to give his answer. 

“I would,” David grimaced. “Love to go.”

“Wait, really?” Patrick asked. His hand slipped down David’s jaw to rest under David’s chin. David tilted his head to be able to see Patrick. He took pleasure in the surprised look etched onto Patrick’s face. 

“Yeah,” David sighed. He closed his eye again and settled back into Patrick’s chest. “You asked so nicely and I want to support you. I’m trying not to be an awful boyfriend.”

Patrick’s fingers paused again and David whined as he covered Patrick’s hand with his own and nudged his fingers to keep them moving. 

“Oh,” David scrambled up, narrowing missing using Patrick’s chest to press himself up. He chanced a look at Patrick, whose face had gone soft with wonder. 

“What did you just say?” Patrick asked, voice softer than his expression. David ached.

“That I would go to your game to support you,” David repeated. He tucked his lips into his mouth and bit down on the soft inside of them. 

“No,” Patrick’s smirk turned into a full on grin. “The other part, the boyfriend part?”

“I don’t recall,” David was breathless with anticipation of what he knew was coming next. 

“Hey, my boyfriend wants to come to my game,” Patrick shifted closer to David, their knees knocked together. “Do you think my boyfriend would wear a jersey of mine?”

David side-eyed him. 

“He might be persuaded. What colors are on the jerseys?” David asked, almost terrified for the answer. 

“Blue and white,” Patrick said with a knowing smile. David glanced down at Patrick’s blue sweater.

“I might be convinced,” David teased. 

“There’s time,” Patrick breathed into the space between them before he closed the distance and David was swept up into a kiss. 

Patrick’s phone dinged as a loud buzzer sounded from the tv. David glared at the screen and narrowly missed Patrick pumping the air in victory. Boston had officially lost. Patrick grabbed his phone from the coffee table as it dinged multiple times, the sounds bleeding together into one loud, long, dissonant  _ ‘ding!’  _

“Andreas is having a last minute get together at his house in honor of Boston losing,” Patrick said with a chuckle. 

“This seems like unsportsman-like behavior,” David commented. He snatched up the last wing while Patrick toyed with his phone case. 

“Eh, we’re not the ones who lost,” Patrick said with a shrug. David could sense his hesitance as Patrick’s phone dinged again. He stared at the food, avoiding Patrick for a moment, just a moment, just long enough to settle his nerves. 

“If you wanted to go, you could go,” David said. He took a deep breath in, refused to look at Patrick just yet, and continued. “Or if you wanted to go, we could both go. I could be persuaded. If that’s something that you were interested in.”

He chanced a look at Patrick, whose face muscles were doing a numerous amount of things and David could tell that he was battling with himself, trying to choose between sincerity and teasing. 

“I would be down to go,” Patrick schooled his face into a neutral expression, which frightened David just a little bit, threw him into a limbo where he didn’t know if he’d be fighting back sentimental feelings in 30 seconds, or if he would be glaring at Patrick and trying not to break. “I mean, I think it’s time to introduce my boyfriend to them. Should see if he’s available to go.”

So it was both. David rolled his eyes, shook his head, then glared, but none of it settled the quick beating of his heart. 

“I think he’s already met most of them,” David offered. 

“Do you remember their names?” Patrick asked, smirl ever prevalent. 

David got up, disentangling himself from Patrick’s legs. 

“I will do some instagram research on the drive over,” David grabbed his phone and made his way to the mudroom. 

“They actually live across the street and three houses down,” Patrick followed David into the mudroom. 

“Okay, well, I need a few minutes then,” David perched himself on the bench he sat at earlier. Patrick sidled up close and gave David pointers on who was who as David scrolled through the Maple Leafs’ instagram. 

Later, with a gin and tonic in hand, David followed Patrick around the kickback, introducing himself, asking questions, making small talk, doing what being a Rose and socialite prepared him for. By the end of the night, he was slightly tipsy and Patrick was pleasantly drunk.

They were putting their jackets when Andreas came over to show them out. He patted Patrick on the back before gripping Patrick’s neck and butting their heads together. 

“Glad you both came by,” Andreas said. He still had a drink in his hand and took a sip before he held his hand out for David to shake. “It was nice seeing you again, David.”

“You too,” David shook his hand then reached over to straighten Patrick’s collar. Patrick just grabbed his hand in midair and pulled him into his side. 

“Will I see you at the next home game?” Andreas asked. He himself was leaning a bit to his right and David was thankful Patrick had wanted to leave. Everyone seemed a drink away from being completely sloshed and there was too much snow outside for him to literally drag Patrick home. 

“I’ll be there. Thursday, right?” David confirmed. Andreas  _ whooped  _ and threw a hand in the air. 

“Fuck yeah!” Andreas turned back to the party, apparently that was the extent of  _ seeing them out.  _ “Brewer’s boyfriend is going to the game on Thursday!”

“Okay, time for us to go,” David pulled Patrick to the front door as a bunch of cheers erupted from inside the house. 

They started the walk back to Patrick’s arm-in-arm.

“My boyfriend is coming to the game on Thursday!” Patrick called out into the still night air. 

“Oh, my god, Patrick shush!” David pressed a finger against Patrick’s lips. “There are people inside their homes who literally don’t care.”

Patrick just chuckled as he stopped. David was yanked back when he tried to keep walking. He let himself be pulled in close to Patrick. 

“Will my boyfriend give me a quick kiss in the moonlight?” Patrick asked, his cheeks were rosy and David was tempted to give the apples of his cheeks quick bites. 

“No. Not until you brush your teeth,” David said as he fanned the air between them with a hand. It was, not great.

“Just one? Please?” Patrick asked--no begged. David tilted his head back, glanced up at the moon poking out through the clouds. “Please?”

David looked down at Patrick. His breath hitched at the look on Patrick’s face, the same one that had looked at him on New Years Eve, under this same moon and said that he thought 2018 would be  _ fun.  _ So full of hope and mischief, and David knew that he would always give in to these requests.

“Okay, but just one,” David whispered. 

Patrick pulled him closer, and they kissed in the moonlight. The hope and longing bubbled up in David, in the same way as the champagne had bubbled and spilled over the rim of his glass when Heather poured it for him, only 6 weeks ago. He was full of it, couldn’t contain it and when he finally pulled away, Patrick looked at him all wide-eyed and out of breath. 

And yeah.

2018 was going to be fun. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [as samwhambam](https://samwhambam.tumblr.com/) ! Come yell at me about all things david and patrick!


End file.
